Every circumstance connected with the life of Christ is
deeply interesting to the Christian mind. Wherever we behold our Saviour, he is well
worthy of our notice.

"His cross, his manger, and his
crown,
Are big with glories yet unknown."

All his weary pilgrimage, from Bethlehem's
manger to Calvary's cross, is, in our eyes, paved with glory. Each spot upon which he trod
is, to our souls, consecrated at once, simply because there the foot of earth's Saviour
and our own Redeemer once was placed. When he comes to Calvary, the interest thickens;
then our best thoughts are centered on him in the agonies of crucifixion, nor does our
deep affection permit us to leave him, even when, the struggle being over, he yields up
the ghost. His body, when it is taken down from the tree, still is lovely in our
eyeswe fondly linger around the motionless clay. By faith we discern Joseph of
Arimathea, and the timid Nicodemus, assisted by those holy women, drawing out the nails
and taking down the mangled body; we behold them wrapping him in clean, white linen,
hastily girding him round with belts of spices; then putting him in his tomb, and
departing for the Sabbath rest. We shall, on this occasion, go where Mary went on the
morning of the first day of the week, when waking from her couch before the dawn, she
aroused herself to be early at the sepulchre of Jesus. We will try, if it be possible, by
the help of God's Spirit, to go as she didnot in body, but in soulwe will
stand at that tomb; we will examine it, and we trust we shall hear some truth-speaking
voice coming from its hollow bosom which will comfort and instruct us, so that we may say
of the grave of Jesus when we go away, "It was none other than the gate of
heaven"a sacred place, deeply solemn, and sanctified by the slain body of our
precious Saviour.

I. AN INVITATION GIVEN. I shall commence my remarks this morning by inviting all
Christians to come with me to the tomb of Jesus. "Come, see the place where the Lord
lay." We will labor to render the place attractive, we will gently take your hand to
guide you to it; and may it please our Master to make our hearts burn within us while we
talk by the way.

Away, ye profaneye souls whose life is laughter, folly, and mirth! Away, ye sordid
and carnal minds who have no taste for the spiritual, no delight in the celestial. We ask
not your company; we speak to God's beloved, to the heirs of heaven, to the sanctified,
the redeemed, the pure in heartand we say to them, "Come, see the place where
the Lord lay." Surely ye need no argument to move your feet in the direction of the
holy sepulchre; but still we will use the utmost power to draw your spirit thither. Come,
then, for 'tis the shrine of greatness, 'tis the resting-place of the man,
the Restorer of our race, the Conqueror of death and hell. Men will travel hundreds of
miles to behold the place where a poet first breathed the air of earth; they will journey
to the ancient tombs of mighty heroes, or the graves of men renowned by fame; but whither
shall the Christian go to find the grave of one so famous as was Jesus? Ask me the
greatest man who ever livedI tell you the man Christ Jesus was "anointed with
the oil of gladness above his fellow." If ye seek a chamber honored as the
resting-place of genius, turn in hither; if ye would worship at the grave of holiness,
come ye here; if ye would see the hallowed spot where the choicest bones that e'er were
fashioned lay for awhile, come with me, Christian, to that quiet garden, hard by the walls
of Jerusalem.

Come with me, moreover, because it is the tomb of your best friend. The Jews said
of Mary, "she goeth unto his grave to weep there." Ye have lost your friends,
some of you, ye have planted flowers upon their tombs, ye go and sit at eventide upon the
green sward, bedewing the grass with your tears, for there your mother lies, and there
your father or your wife. Oh! in pensive sorrow come with me to this dark garden of our
Saviour's burial; come to the grave of your best friendyour brother, yea, one who
"sticketh closer than a brother." Come thou to the grave of thy dearest
relative, O Christian, for Jesus is thy husband, "Thy maker is thy husband, the Lord
of Hosts is his name." Doth not affection draw you? Do not the sweet lips of love woo
you? Is not the place sanctified where one so well-beloved slept, although but for a
moment ? Surely ye need no eloquence; if it were needed I have none. I have but the power,
in simple, but earnest accents, to repeat the words, "Come, see the place where the
Lord lay." On this Easter morning pay a visit to his grave, for it is the grave of
you best friend.

Yea, more, I will further urge you to this pious pilgrimage. Come, for angels bid you.
Angels said, "Come, see the place where the Lord lay." The Syriac version reads,
"Come, see the place where our Lord lay." Yes, angels put themselves with
those poor women, and used one common pronounour. Jesus is the Lord of angels
as well as of men. Ye feeble womenye have called him Lord, ye have washed his feet,
ye have provided for his wants, ye have hung upon his lips to catch his honeyed sentences,
ye have sat entranced beneath his mighty eloquence; ye call him Master and Lord, and ye do
well; "But," said the seraph, "he is my Lord too;" bowing his head, he
sweetly said, "Come, see the place where our Lord lay." Dost fear then,
Christian, to step into that tomb? Dost dread to enter there, when the angel pointeth with
his finger and saith, "Come, we will go together, angels and men, and see the royal
bedchamber?" Ye know that angels did go into his tomb, for they sat one at his head
and the other at his foot in holy meditation. I picture to myself those bright cherubs
sitting there talking to one another. One of them said, "It was there his feet
lay;" and the other replied, "and there his hands, and there his head;" and
in celestial language did they talk concerning the deep things of God; then they stooped
and kissed the rocky floor, made sacred to the angels themselves, not because there they
were redeemed, but because there their Master and their monarch, whose high behests they
were obeying, did for awhile become the slave of death, and the captive of destruction.
Come, Christian, then, for angels are the porters to unbar the door; come, for a cherub is
thy messenger to usher thee into the death-place of death himself. Nay, start not from the
entrance; let not the darkness affright thee; the vault is not damp with the vapors of
death, nor doth the air contain aught of contagion. Come, for it is a pure and healthy
place. Fear not to enter that tomb. I will admit that catacombs are not the places
where we, who are full of joy, would love to go. There is something gloomy and noisome
about a vault. there are noxious smells of corruption; oft-times pestilence is born where
a dead body hath lain; but fear it not, Christian, for Christ was not left in hellin
Hadesneither did his body see corruption. Come, there is no scent, yea, rather a
perfume. Step in here, and, if thou didst ever breathe the gales of Ceylon, or winds from
the groves of Araby, thou shalt find them far excelled by that sweet, holy fragrance left
by the blessed body of Jesus; that alabaster vase which once held divinity, and was
rendered sweet and precious thereby. Think not thou shalt find aught obnoxious to thy
senses. Corruption Jesus never saw; no worms ever devoured his flesh; no rottenness ever
entered into his bones; he saw no corruption. Three days he slumbered, but no long enough
to putrefy; he soon arose, perfect as when he entered, uninjured as when his limbs were
composed for their slumber. Come then, Christian, summon up thy thoughts, gather all thy
powers; here is a sweet invitation, let me press it again. Let me lead thee by the hand of
meditation, my brother; let me take thee by the arm of thy fancy, and let me again say to
thee, "Come, see the place where the Lord lay."

There is yet one reason more why I would have thee visit this royal sepulchrebecause
it is a quiet spot. Oh! I have longed for rest, for I have heard this world's rumors
in my ears so long, that I have begged for

"A lodge in some vast wilderness,
Some boundless contiguity of shade,"

where I might hide myself forever. I am sick
of this tiring and trying life; my frame is weary, my soul is mad to repose herself
awhile. I would I could lay myself down a little by the edge of some pebbly brook, with no
companion save the fair flowers or the nodding willows. I would I could recline in
stillness, where the air brings balm to the tormented brain, where there is no murmur save
the hum of the summer bee, no whisper save that of the zephyrs, and no song except the
caroling of the lark. I wish I could be at ease for a moment. I have become a man of the
world; my brain is racked, my soul is tired. Oh! wouldst thou be quiet, Christian?
Merchant, wouldst thou rest from thy toils? wouldst thou be calm for once? Then come
hither. It is in a pleasant garden, far from the hum of Jerusalem; the noise and din of
business will not reach thee there; "Come, see the place where the Lord lay." It
is a sweet resting spot, a withdrawing room for thy soul, where thou mayest brush from thy
garments the dust of earth and muse awhile in peace.

II. ATTENTION REQUESTED. Thus I have pressed the invitation; now we will enter the tomb.
Let us examine it with deep attention, noticing every circumstance connected with it.

And, first, mark that it is a costly tomb. It is no common grave; it is not an
excavation dug out by the spade for a pauper, in which to hide the last remains of his
miserable and overwearied bones. It is a princely tomb; it was made of marble, cut in the
side of a hill. Stand here, believer, and ask why Jesus had such a costly sepulchre. He
had no elegant garments; he wore a coat without seam, woven from the top throughout,
without an atom of embroidery. He owned no sumptuous palace, for he had not where to lay
his head. His sandals were not rich with gold, or studded with brilliants. He was poor.
Why, then does he lie in a noble grave? We answer, for this reason: Christ was unhonored
till he had finished his sufferings; Christ's body suffered contumely, shame, spitting,
buffeting, and reproach, until he had completed his great work; he was trampled under
foot, he was "despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with
grief;" but the moment he had finished his undertaking, God said, "No more shall
that body be disgraced; if it is to sleep, let it slumber in an honorable grave; if it is
to rest, let nobles bury it; let Joseph, the councillor, and Nicodemus, the man of
Sanhedrim, be present at the funeral; let the body be embalmed with precious spices, let
it have honor; it has had enough of contumely, and shame, and reproach, and buffeting; let
it now be treated with respect." Christian, dost thou discern the meaning? Jesus,
after he had finished his work, slept in a costly grave; for now his Father loved and
honored him, since his work was done.

But, though it is a costly grave, it is a borrowed one. I see over the top of it,
"Sacred to the memory of the family of Joseph of Arimathea;" yet Jesus slept
there. Yes, he was buried in another's sepulchre. He who had no house of his own, and
rested in the habitation of other men; who had no table, but lived upon the hospitality of
his disciples; who borrowed boats in which to preach, and had not anything in the wide
world, was obliged to have a tomb from charity. Oh! should not the poor take courage? They
dread to be buried at the expense of their neighbors, but if their poverty be unavoidable,
wherefore should they blush, since Jesus Christ himself was interred in another's grave?
Ah! I wish I might have had Joseph's grave to let Jesus be buried in it. Good Joseph
thought he had cut it out for himself, and that he should lay his bones there. He had it
excavated as a family vault, and lo, the Son of David makes it one of the tombs of the
kings. But he did not lose it by lending it to the Lord; rather, he had it back with
precious interest. He only lent it three days; then Christ resigned it; he had not
injured, but perfumed and sanctified it, and make it far more holy, so that it would be an
honor in future to be buried there. It was a borrowed tomb; and why? I take it, not to
dishonor Christ, but in order to show that, as his sins were borrowed sins, so his burial
was in a borrowed grave. Christ had no transgressions of his own; he took ours upon his
head; he never committed a wrong, but he took all my sin, and all yours, if ye are
believers; concerning all his people, it is true, he bore their griefs and carried their
sorrows in his own body on the tree; therefore, as they were others' sins, so he rested in
another's grave; as they were sins imputed, so that grave was only imputedly his. It was
not his sepulchre; it was the tomb of Joseph.

Let us not weary in this pious investigation, but with fixed attention observe everything
connected with this holy spot. The grave, we observe, was cut in a rock. Why was
this? the rock of Ages was buried in a rocka Rock within a rock. But why? Most
persons suggest that it was so ordained, that it might be clear that there was no covert
way by which the disciples or others could enter and steal the body away. Very possibly it
was the reason; but O! my soul, canst thou find a spiritual reason? Christ's sepulchre was
cut in a rock. It was not cut in mould that might be worn away by the water, or might
crumble and fall into decay. The sepulchre stands, I believe, entire to this day; if it
does not naturally, it does spiritually. The same sepulchre which took the sins of Paul,
shall take my iniquities into his bosom, for if I ever lose my guilt, it must roll off my
shoulders into the sepulchre. It was cut in a rock, so that if a sinner were saved a
thousand years ago, I too can be delivered, for it is a rocky sepulchre where sin was
buriedit was a rocky sepulchre of marble where my crimes were laid
foreverburied never to have a resurrection.

You will mark, moreover, that tomb was one wherein no other man had ever lain.
Christopher Ness says, when Christ was born, he lay in a virgin's womb, and when he died,
he was placed in a virgin tomb; he slept where never man had slept before. The reason was
that none might say that another person rose, for there never had been any other body
there, thus a mistake of persons was impossible. Nor could it be said that some old
prophet was interred in the place, and that Christ rose because he had touched his bones.
You remember where Elisha was buried; and as they were burying a man, behold he touched
the prophet's bones and arose. Christ touched no prophet's bones, for none had ever slept
there; it was a new chamber where the monarch of the earth did take his rest for three day
and three nights.

We have learned a little, then, with attention; but let us stoop down once more before we
leave the grave, and notice something else. We see the grave, but do you notice the
grave-clothes, all wrapped and laid in their places, the napkin being folded up by
itself? Wherefore are the grave-clothes wrapped up? The Jews said robbers had abstracted
the body; but if so, surely they would have stolen the clothes; they would never have
thought of wrapping them up an laying them down so carefully; they would be too much in
haste to think of it. Why was it then? To manifest to us that Christ did not come out in a
hurried manner. He slept till the last moment; then he awoke; he came not in haste. They
shall not come out in haste, neither by flight, but at the appointed moment shall his
people come to him. So at the precise hour, the decreed instant, Jesus Christ leisurely
awoke, took off his cerements, left them all behind him, and came forth in his pure and
naked innocence, perhaps to show us that as clothes were the offspring of sinwhen
sin was atoned for by Christ, he left all raiment behind himfor garments are the
badges of guilt: if we had not been guilty we should never have needed them.

Then the napkin, mark you, was laid by itself. The grave-clothes were left behind for
every departed Christian to wear. The bed of death is well sheeted with garments of Jesus,
but the napkin was laid by itself, because the Christian, when he dies, does not need
that; it is used by the mourners, and the mourners only. We shall all wear grave-clothes,
but we shall not need the napkin. When our friends die, the napkin is laid aside for us to
use; but do our ascended brethren and sisters use it? No; the Lord God hath wiped away all
tears from their eyes. We stand and view the corpses of the dear departed, we moisten
their faces with our tears, letting whole showers of grief fall on their heads; but do they
weep? Oh, no. Could they speak to us from the upper spheres they would say, "Weep not
for me, for I am glorified. Sorrow not for me; I have left a bad world behind me, and have
entered into a far better." They have no napkinthey weep not. Strange it is
that those who endure death weep not; but those who see them die, are weepers. When the
child is born it weeps while others smile, (say the Arabs,) and when it dies it smiles
while others weep. It is so with the Christian. O blessed thing! The napkin is laid by
itself, because Christians will never want to use it when they die.

III. Emotion excited. We have thus surveyed the grave with deep attention, and, I
hope, with some profit to ourselves. But that is not all. I love a religion which
consists, in a great measure, of emotion. Now, if I had power, like a master, I would
touch the strings of your hearts, and fetch a glorious tune of solemn music from them, for
this is a deeply solemn place into which I have conducted you.

First, I would bid you stand and see the place where the Lord lay with emotions of deep
sorrow. Oh cone, my beloved brother, thy Jesus once lay there. He was a murdered man,
my soul, and thou the murderer.

"Ah, you my sins, my cruel sins,
His chief tormentors were,
Each of my crimes became a nail,
And unbelief the spear."

"Alas! and did my Saviour bleed?
And did my Sov'reign die?"

I slew himthis right hand struck the
dagger to his heart. My deeds slew Christ. Alas! I slew my best beloved; I killed him who
loved me with an everlasting love. Ye eyes, why do you refuse to weep when ye see Jesus'
body mangled and torn? Oh! give vent to your sorrow, Christians, for ye have good reason
to do so. I believe in what Hart says, that there was a time in his experience when he
could so sympathize with Christ, that he felt more grief at the death of Christ than he
did joy. It seemed so sad a thing that Christ should have to die; and to me it often
appears too great a price for Jesus Christ to purchase worms with his own blood. Methinks
I love him so much, that if I had seen him about to suffer, I should have been as bad as
Peter, and have said, "That be far from thee, Lord;" but then he would have said
to me, "Get thee behind me, Satan", for he does not approve of that love which
would stop him from dying. "The cup which my Father hath given me, shall I not drink
it?" But I think, had I seen him going up to his cross, I could fain have pressed him
back and said "Oh! Jesus, thou shalt not die; I cannot have it. Wilt thou purchase my
life with a price so dear?" It seems too costly for him who is the Prince of Life and
Glory to let his fair limbs be tortured in agony; that the hands which carried mercies
should be pierced with accursed nails; that the temples that were always clothed with love
should have cruel thorns driven through them. It appears too much. Oh! weep, Christian,
and let your sorrow rise. Is not the price all but too great, that your beloved should for
you resign himself? Oh! I should think, if a person were saved from death by
another, he would always feel deep grief if his deliverer lost his life in the attempt. I
had a friend, who, standing by the side of a piece of frozen water, saw a young lad in it,
and sprang upon the ice in order to save him. After clutching the boy, he held him in his
hands and cried out, "Here he is! Here he is! I have saved him." But, just as
they caught hold of the boy, he sank himself, and his body was not found for some time
afterwards, when he was quite dead. Oh! it is so with Jesus. My soul was drowning. From
heaven's high portals he saw me sinking in the depths of hell; he plunged in:

"He sank beneath his heavy woes,
To raise me to a crown;
There's ne'er a gift his hand bestows,
But cost his heart a groan."
Ah! we may indeed regret our sin, since it slew Jesus.

Now, Christian, change thy note a moment.
"Come, see the place where the Lord lay," with joy and gladness. He does
not lie there now. Weep, when ye see the tomb of Christ, but rejoice because it is empty.
Thy sin slew him, but his divinity raised him up. Thy guilt hath murdered him, but his
righteousness hath restored him. Oh! he hath burst the bonds of death, he hath ungirt the
cerements of the tomb, and hath come out more than conqueror, crushing death beneath his
feet. Rejoice, O Christian, for he is not therehe is risen.

"Come, see the place where the Lord
lay."

One more thought, and then I will speak a
little concerning the doctrines we may learn from this grave. "Come, see the place
where the Lord lay." with solemn awe for you and I will have to lie there too.

"Hark! from the tomb a doleful sound,
Mine ears, attend the cry,
Ye living men, come view the ground
Where ye must shortly lie."

"Princes, this clay must be your bed,
In spite of all your powers.
The tall, the wise, the reverend head,
Must lie as low as ours."

It is a fact we do not often think of, that
we shall all be dead in a little while. I know that I am made of dust, and not of iron; my
bones are not brass, nor my sinews steel; in a little while my body must crumble back to
its native elements. But do you ever try to picture to yourself the moment of your
dissolution? My friends, there are some of you who seldom realize how old you are, how
near you are to death. One way of remembering our age, is to see how much remains. Think
how old eighty is, and then see how few years there are before you will get there. We
should remember our frailty. Sometimes I have tried to think of the time of my departure.
I do not know whether I shall die a violent death or not; but I would to God that I might
die suddenly; for sudden death is sudden glory. I would I might have such a blessed exit
as Dr. Beaumont, and die in my pulpit, laying down my body with my charge, and ceasing at
once to work and live. But it is not mine to choose. Suppose I lie lingering for weeks, in
the midst of pains, and griefs, and agonies; when that moment comes, that moment which is
too solemn for my lips to speak of, when the spirit leaves the claylet the physician
put it off for weeks, or years, as we say he does, though he does notwhen that
moment comes, O ye lips, be dumb, and profane not its solemnity. When death comes, how is
the strong man bowed down! How doth the mighty man fall! They may say they will not die,
but there is no hope for them; they must yield, the arrow has gone home. I knew a man who
was a wicked wretch, and I remember seeing him pace the floor of his bedroom saying
"O God, I will not die, I will not die." When I begged him to lie on his bed,
for he was dying, he said he could not die while he could walk, and he would walk till he
did die. Ah! he expired in the utmost torments, always shrieking, "O God, I will not
die." Oh! that moment, that last moment. See how clammy is the sweat upon the brow,
how dry the tongue, how parched the lips. The man shuts his eyes and slumbers, then opens
them again: and if he be a Christian, I can fancy that he will say:

We know not when he is dying. One gentle
sigh, and the spirit breaks away. We can scarcely say, "he is gone," before the
ransomed spirit takes its mansion near the throne. Come to Christ's tomb, then, for the
silent vault must soon be your habitation. Come to Christ's grave, for ye must slumber
there. And even you, ye sinners, for one moment I will ask you to come also, because ye
must die as well as the rest of us. Your sins cannot keep you from the jaws of death. I
say, sinner, I want thee to look at Christ's sepulchre too, for when thou diest it may
have done thee great good to think of it. You have heard of Queen Elizabeth, crying out
that she would give an empire for a single hour. Or have you heard the despairing cry of
the gentleman on board the "Arctic," when it was going down, who shouted to the
boat, "Come back! I will give you ?30,000 if you will come and take me in." Ah!
poor man, it were but little if he had thirty thousand worlds, if he could thereby prolong
his life: "Skin for skin, yea, all that a man hath, will he give for his life."
Some of you who can laugh this morning, who came to spend a merry hour in this hall, will
be dying, and then ye will pray and crave for life, and shriek for another Sabbath-day.
Oh! how the Sabbaths ye have wasted will walk like ghosts before you! Oh! how they will
shake their snaky hair in your eyes! How will ye be made to sorrow and weep, because ye
wasted precious hours, which, when they are gone, are gone too far to be recalled. May God
save you from the pangs of remorse.

IV. INSTRUCTION IMPARTED. And now, Christian brethren, "Come, see the place where the
Lord lay," to learn a doctrine or two. What did you see when you visited "the
place where the Lord lay?" "He is not here; for he is risen." The first
thing you perceive, if you stand by his empty tomb, is his divinity. The dead in
Christ shall rise first at the resurrection: but he who rose firsttheir leader, rose
in a different fashion. They rise by imparted power. He rose by his own. He could not
slumber in the grave, because he was God. Death had no more dominion over him. There is no
better proof of Christ's divinity that that startling resurrection of his, when he rose
from the grave, by the glory of the Father. O Christian, thy Jesus is a God; his broad
shoulders that hold thee up are indeed divine; and here thou hast the best proof of
itbecause he rose from the grave.

A second doctrine here taught well may charm thee, if the Holy Spirit apply it with power.
Behold his empty tomb, O true believer: it is a sign of thine acquittal, and thy
full discharge. If Jesus had not paid the debt, he ne'er had risen from the grave. He
would have lain there till this moment if he had not cancelled the entire debt, by
satisfying eternal vengeance. O beloved, is not that an overwhelming thought?

"It is finished, it is finished,
Hear the rising Saviour cry."

The heavenly turnkey came, a bright angel
stepped from heaven and rolled away the stone; but he would not have done so if Christ had
not done all: he would have kept him there, he would have said, "Nay,nay, thou art
the sinner now; thou hast the sins of all thine elect upon thy shoulder, and I will not
let thee go free till thou hast paid the uttermost farthing." In his going free I see
my own discharge.

"My Jesu's blood's my full
discharge."

As a justified man, I have not a sin now
against me in God's book. If I were to turn over God's eternal book, I should see every
debt of mine receipted and cancelled.

"Here's pardon for transgressions
past,
It matter not how black their cast,
And O my soul, with wonder view,
For sins to come, here's pardon too.
Fully discharged by Christ I am,
From Christ's tremendous curse and blame."

One more doctrine we learn, and with that we
will concludethe doctrine of the resurrection. Jesus rose, and as the Lord
our Saviour rose, so all his followers must rise. Die I mustthis body must be a
carnival for worms; it must be eaten by those tiny cannibals; peradventure it shall be
scattered from one portion of the earth to another; the constituent particles of this my
frame will enter into plants, from plants pass into animals, and thus be carried into far
distant realms; but, at the blast of the archangel's trumpet, every separate atom of my
body shall find its fellow; like the bones lying in the valley of vision, though separated
from one another, the moment God shall speak, the bone will creep to its bone; then the
flesh shall come upon it; the four winds of heaven shall blow, and the breath shall
return. So let me die, let beasts devour me, let fire turn this body into gas and vapor,
all its particles shall yet again be restored; this very self-same, actual body shall
start up from its grave, glorified and made like Christ's body, yet still the same body,
for God hath said it. Christ's same body rose; so shall mine. O my soul, dost thou now
dread to die? Thou wilt lose thy partner body a little while, but thou wilt be married
again in heaven; soul and body shall again be united before the throne of God. The
gravewhat is it? It is the bath in which the Christian puts the clothes of his body
to have them washed and cleansed. Deathwhat is it? It is the waiting-room where we
robe ourselves for immortality; it is the place where the body, like Esther, bathes itself
in spices that it may be fit for the embrace of its Lord. Death is the gate of life; I
will not fear to die, then, but will say,

"Shudder not to pass the stream;
Venture all thy care on him;
Him whose dying love and power
Stilled its tossing, hushed its roar,
Safe in the expanded wave;
Gentle as a summer's eve.
Not one object of his care
Ever suffered shipwreck there."

Come, view the place then, with all hallowed
meditation, where the Lord lay. Spend this afternoon, my beloved brethren, in meditating
upon it, and very often go to Christ's grave, both to weep and to rejoice. Ye timid ones,
do not be afraid to approach, for 'tis no vain thing to remember that timidity buried
Christ. Faith would not have given him a funeral at all; faith would have kept him above
ground, and would never have let him be buried; for it would have said, it would be
useless to bury Christ if he were to rise. Fear buried him. Nicodemus, the night disciple,
and Joseph of Arimathea, secretly, for fear of the Jews, went and buried him. Therefore,
ye timid ones, ye may go too. Ready-to-halt, poor Fearing, and thou, Mrs. Despondency, and
Much-afraid, go often there; let it be your favorite haunt, there build a tabernacle,
there abide. And often say to your heart, when you are in distress and sorrow, "Come,
see the place where the Lord lay."